


to have him stay

by ShowMeAHero



Series: slam fight, bright light, feeling pretty psyched [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Babies, Big Dick Richie Tozier, Blow Jobs, Curtain Fic, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 07:23:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20944529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: “I already know my life’s a joke,” Richie quips as he finishes tying his shoe and flops back against their bed. “I don’t need them toTruman Showme for me to understand it.”“Oh, your life’s a joke, alright,” Eddie replies. He tosses Richie’s jacket in his direction. “I’m the punchline. Let’s go.”





	to have him stay

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, for Lauryn.
> 
> Title taken from ["Happy"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJ0O2vDT0VE) by Mitski.

Eddie shakes out Richie’s shirt, then hands it over when he’s satisfied with how it’s creased. Richie, of course, could not possibly care less about the creases of a shirt patterned with skulls and sunflowers, and tosses it right on over his t-shirt and doesn’t button it. It’s the same outfit he’s had to wear the last four nights, and he sighs as he shoves his shoes on.

“I already know my life’s a joke,” Richie quips as he finishes tying his shoe and flops back against their bed. “I don’t need them to _ Truman Show _me for me to understand it.”

“Oh, your life’s a joke, alright,” Eddie replies. He tosses Richie’s jacket in his direction. “I’m the punchline. Let’s go.”

“Let me write that down, that’s actually good— Hey, _ hey, alright, _ I’m going—” Richie smacks away Eddie’s grabbing hands, laughing, and Eddie lets him go. He smooths his hair back once Richie’s gone, then ducks to look into the mirror. He adjusts his own collar, then snaps back up when Richie reenters the room. “You gonna say goodbye or what? Am I single now or something, Eduardo? Let’s _ go—” _

“I’m coming, Jesus Christ, I never get a second to myself in this house,” Eddie grumbles, and lets Richie grab his hand and haul him off towards the door. Leah’s still exactly where they left her (asleep in her bassinet), as is Gabe (asleep sprawled on the sofa). Despite the fact that they’re not awake to say goodbye, Richie stops to lean over and kiss both of them on the foreheads, and Eddie huffs and looks away.

“Something bothering you, tiny?” Richie asks. Eddie glances back over at him, but Richie’s attention is focused downwards on stroking his fingers gently through Gabe’s mess of hair. “Are you getting stir crazy? I know, I’m sorry this week sucks, babe, I _ know, _but I’ll be done with this tonight and then I’m off for a week, we can do whatever you want?”

Eddie stares at him, wide-eyed, for a moment, before he says, “Uhh— Yeah, I guess. Just— Looking forward to getting out of the house.” He glances at the clock, then says, “Hey, Rich, you gotta get going if you wanna be on time, hm, see?”

“Hey, here’s your hat, what’s your hurry?” Richie laughs. “Man, I wish you could come. I’m so much funnier when you’re there. Probably overcompensating from…” Richie trails off as he lifts his messenger bag off the ground and slides the strap over his shoulder. He pauses, then actually turns to look at Eddie. “Hey, Eds, I just wanted to say, I— You know, Eddie, I don’t deserve you.”

Eddie’s heart sinks. Of course Richie wants to start saying shit like that right _ now. _“Yes, you do, you deserve the world— Richie, you’re gonna be late—”

“No, I mean it,” Richie tells him. He drops his bag again and frames Eddie’s face in his hands. “I get to fuck off and go do shows and record shit for Netflix and you’re just here taking care of our kids, and I— Fuck, I actually really miss being home,” Richie says. He seems confused, like it’s a revelation. “I— Shit. Do I—”

“Richie, this is an amazing realization you’re coming to, and I’m super proud of you for rubbing two brain cells together for the first time in thirty years, but, right now, all I need you to do is get in your car and go to work,” Eddie says firmly. Richie stares down at him, still holding Eddie’s face between his hands, and then he laughs.

“You’re so angry and small,” Richie jokes. “Like a tiny little dog. Just so aggressive.” He kisses Eddie noisily right in the center of his forehead, then tips Eddie’s face up and ducks down himself so he can kiss him properly. Eddie has to reach up and wrap his fingers around Richie’s wrists. “Alright, _ Jesus, _I’m leaving. Should I be concerned you’re having an affair with Ben or something? Is he gonna jump out as soon as I’m gone and raise my kids with you?”

“I have a pact with Stan, not Ben,” Eddie tells him. “Now, _ go.” _

“Oh, yeah, Stan, makes sense,” Richie says. “Wait— You’re not kidding, are you? _ Edward—” _

“Get _ out,” _ Eddie says, pushing Richie just past the threshold. “I love you. You’ll do great tonight. _ Go.” _

“Love you,” Richie replies, as Eddie shuts their door in his face. “Dick!”

“Can’t hear you!” Eddie whisper-shouts back through the door. He gingerly locks the door, as slowly as he can to keep the motion quiet, just in case Richie’s still close enough to hear it, then runs back down the hallway to their guest room.

“He’s gone,” Eddie says, rapping his knuckles on the guest room door. The door opens, and Ben’s grinning face appears on the other side.

“I’m not good enough to have a pact with if Rich dies?” Ben asks. “I’m insulted, I think I’d be a great step-dad.”

“You can be next after Stan,” Eddie tells him. He grabs his bag, then drops it, then rethinks and picks it back up again. “I have to leave now if I’m gonna get there before him and get in there before he can see me, thanks so much for helping again, Ben, you’re the best, I gotta go—”

“Dad?” Gabe’s voice asks, and Eddie has to shove down a groan as he turns back around and sees Gabe standing on the sofa, leaning over the back of the sofa to look blearily at him. “Where’re you going?”

“I’m gonna go see your dad’s show as a surprise, okay?” Eddie tells him. He jogs back to the sofa and says, “Uncle Ben’s gonna stay here with you and Leah, and your dad and I will see you in the morning, okay?”

Gabe frowns over Eddie’s shoulder, then leans in and says, “Why not Uncle Stan?”

“If I hear _ one more person _say they’d rather Stan be here, I’m just gonna go,” Ben calls to them, and Eddie can hear Leah start to fuss. He shuts his eyes and sighs.

“Uncle Ben woke up Leah,” Gabe whispers.

“He sure did,” Eddie agrees. He opens his eyes and kisses Gabe on the cheek. “Help Uncle Ben tonight, alright, bud? I’ll be home soon. Love you.”

“Love you,” Gabe echoes as Eddie hugs him and stands up straight again to leave.

“You woke her up, she’s your responsibility,” Eddie says, before he kisses Leah’s red face and slips out the door. Richie is already long gone, and Eddie calls a cab to get himself to the theater.

* * *

Richie’s not the worst comedian in the world. He’s _ easily _ not the best, but he’s also easily not the _ worst. _Eddie enjoys watching him, but there’s also the added layer of dealing with Richie on a daily basis that makes him seem weird on a stage. He’s funnier when they’re just at home, hanging out, than he is when he’s actually doing a show.

Nevertheless, Richie constantly insists he does better at shows when Eddie’s there, and so Eddie’s arranged to surprise him tonight. He’s been recording shows for his first Netflix special, and they have to film six shows at the same venue, all in a row, so they can cut the best of all the shows into one supercut for the special. The audience changes each time, but Richie stays the same: same outfit, same hairstyle, same jokes. Lucky for Richie that they did it so close to home; lucky for Eddie that Ben wasn’t busy on the last night of the shows for filming so Eddie could actually go see it.

Eddie got his ticket from Richie’s agent, who left it for him at the front desk. There must be a note or something inside the envelope with the ticket, because the ticket agent who opens it raises an eyebrow at a piece of paper, then looks up at Eddie.

“It says to tell you not to distract the performers,” the ticket agent says. “Are you gonna be a problem?”

“No, the comedian’s my husband,” Eddie explains. The ticket agent looks at him blandly. “He— I got in trouble for heckling him _ once.” _

“Please don’t make it twice,” the guy says, and hands his ticket to him. “You’re in the front row, center. Go to the third door on the right.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says dryly. Sure enough, when he gets to his seat, he’s smack in the middle of the very front row, and one of the first people in the theater. He takes his seat and watches the theater fill up, person by person. It’s weird, thinking that all these people are here to see Richie. _ Richie, _ the same man who spilled coffee on his jeans that morning and had tried to just turn them around and wear them backwards instead, somehow sold out an entire theater in the city for six nights in a _ row _and gets his own Netflix special. Eddie’s… kind of proud, actually. He settles in.

By 6:57pm, the lights flash; at 7:00pm, they go down, and the stage lights up instead. There’s a voice over the speakers announcing Richie, rather than somebody on the stage, and then Richie’s there, coming out on the stage and waving at the audience. Eddie’s seen him perform countless times, but he still enjoys the anticipation of Richie’s eyes finding his. He wonders how Richie will respond this time, in front of— _ this, _in front of the theater and the audience and the cameras and everyone. Eddie’s abruptly nervous, and sinks down in his seat a little bit.

Tragically, that’s the exact moment Richie’s eyes land on him, and his whole face lights up. He grabs his microphone, yanks it right out of the stand, and says, “Hey, guys, my husband came! He wasn’t able to come before because— Hey, Eds, where the fuck are the kids you’re supposed to be watching?”

“Can you swear on Netflix, Trashmouth?” Eddie shouts back. Richie looks up at a camera.

“I don’t actually fucking know,” Richie says. “You’d think a comedian nicknamed Trashmouth might’ve asked beforehand but, then again, as my husband so lovingly pointed out earlier this evening, I haven’t rubbed two brain cells together in thirty years.” The audience laughs, and Eddie buries his face in his hands. “No, I’m _ serious, _ he said that to me when I told him I don’t deserve him.” The audience says _ aw. _ Richie shakes his head. “No, that’s not cute, that’s a _ terrible _response.”

“Do your set, you jackass!” Eddie shouts at him, hands cupped around his mouth. “Jesus Christ, it’s impossible to make you focus on anything for more than twenty seconds, I swear to God, if you—”

“And that’s Edward Kaspbrak, everybody, still yelling at me while Netflix is trying to commodify me!” Richie announces. The crowd claps, and Eddie sinks further down in his seat. He’s not entirely sure what he should have expected, but he knows he’s an idiot for expecting anything different than _ this. _“Seriously, though, Eds, where the fuck are our kids?”

“Ben’s got them,” Eddie tells him, and Richie pretends to be shocked.

“Our hottest friend,” Richie groans. “I knew it. Goddamn. Alright, let me drink the pain away.” Richie grabs his water bottle off the stool near him and chugs half of it. Eddie knows it’s just because he was too nervous to drink any water before he came out, and now that he’s settling into the stage, he’s comfortable enough to feel thirsty. Eddie loves knowing Richie. Hell, Eddie loves _ loving _ Richie — not that he’d ever tell him.

From there, his set is his normal fare. It’s a good mix of jokes written for him and jokes he’s written himself, all vetted through Eddie before they make it to the final set. Richie’s complained a couple of times this night that jokes weren’t landing, but it seems to Eddie that this is one of the best shows Richie’s ever done. Most of his jokes land, everybody’s laughing with him, and Eddie can see the bright flush on Richie’s face that means he’s _ happy, _thrilled and exhilarated and soaked in attention, allowed to just explode outwards as much as he likes until the show ends.

When he reaches the end of the set, somebody shouts, “Encore!”, and Richie laughs before making eye contact with Eddie. Eddie’s head immediately snaps to the side, searching for an easy and quick way out, but his path is blocked on both sides by legs.

“I don’t have an encore,” Richie says. “The fuck do I look like, a Jimmy Buffet cover band? Actually, don’t answer that.” He motions to Eddie, and Eddie shakes his head. Richie motions to him again, more aggressively this time, and Eddie groans. “What I _ do _have, though, is a glimpse at my precious trophy husband for you all, if that’s something you’d be interested in?”

Some lady screams, so the whole theater cheers, and Eddie sheepishly stands, trying to slink as unobtrusively to the stairs off the side of the stage as he can. He goes up and Richie’s there, sweaty and red-faced and glowing.

“You came,” Richie says, microphone away from their mouths. It’s just a quiet moment, and Eddie can almost forget about the people looking at them; it helps that they’ve all vanished behind the stage lights. “I _ really _don’t deserve you.”

“That was the funniest you’ve ever been,” Eddie tells him. “If me showing up at these things actually makes you good, I’d do it more often.”

“Oh, you’re such an ass,” Richie says, eyes suspiciously wet, and he pulls Eddie out to the center of the stage. He brings the mic back up and says, “My beloved husband just told me he’d show up at these shows more often if he thought it would make me funnier!”

The crowd laughs, and Eddie’s face burns. “Okay, that’s enough—”

“Who wants to live forever?” Richie exclaims. He tugs Eddie closer to himself, then dips him, spinning Eddie so quickly that Eddie makes an undignified noise as Richie drops him towards the ground. He holds him up, the two of them at an angle, Richie’s head bowed.

“You’re such an ass,” Eddie says. Richie grins at him, his hair dangling between their faces.

“It’s for posterity, babe,” Richie tells him, then kisses him. Eddie holds onto Richie’s shoulders, then punches him on the arm when Richie sets him upright. Richie waves goodbye to the audience, thanks them, bows a bunch of times in different dramatic fashions, then escorts Eddie off the stage.

* * *

Richie has to stand outside for over an hour saying hi to fans who stayed to see him, taking selfies with them, listening to their stories. He’s got his jacket on and his hands in his pockets, head bowed, listening to every word said to him, nodding through everything he’s told. There’s something to his channeled intensity that sets Eddie on edge, so he just leans back against the brick wall outside the theater and watches him interact with his fans.

Eventually, one of the fans notices him and realizes who he is, and then they’re making him stand in the pictures, too, Richie’s arm draped over his shoulder. He’s fever-hot, the bare skin of his forearm burning through Eddie’s thin cotton shirt, and he can hardly breathe. Richie leans up against his back. Eddie shivers.

The last fan can’t leave soon enough, and then Richie’s dragging him down the sidewalk and to an alleyway tucked off to the side of the theater. It’s empty, and not the dirtiest alley Eddie has ever been in, but he still puts up a protest as Richie crowds him against the wall and kisses him. He sighs, letting his hands settle on Richie’s hips.

“You came to see my show,” Richie murmurs against his lips, then pulls back to kiss down Eddie’s neck instead.

“No shit I came to see your show,” Eddie replies. “I want to support you, you jackass.”

“God, I love you,” Richie says. Eddie’s warmed by it.

“This place is disgusting,” Eddie says in return. “There’s so much dirt in here, Richie. You don’t know what else is in here, there’s probably— blood and semen and—”

“There’s about to be, at least,” Richie comments. Eddie slaps his chest, and Richie laughs huskily, pulling back to kiss Eddie’s scarred cheek. Eddie shoves him away.

“You’re _ disgusting,” _Eddie insists. Richie tries to kiss him again, but Eddie just turns his head, making Richie chase him until he gives up. “No, let’s go home, this place is filthy, Richie—”

“Fine, _ fine,” _Richie says, withdrawing. His hands twitch, and Eddie desperately wants to touch him, too. Richie raises an eyebrow at him.

“Shut up,” Eddie says, before kissing him again. He gets his hands up under Richie’s shirts and slides his palms across his skin, feeling hair under his touch as his hands skate up towards Richie’s shoulders. Richie untucks Eddie’s shirt from his pants and starts unbuttoning it, and Eddie groans. “No, I can’t get naked in an _ alleyway, _ Richie, I’m too old and a bunch of _ your _fans are right down the street—”

“I know you’re right but you’re also so hot and tiny that it’s hard to listen,” Richie murmurs. He kisses Eddie again, then releases him. He looks Eddie over up from his head to his heels, then coughs, saying, “Hey, you might wanna, uhh… Straighten yourself up a bit there, Eds.”

“Impossible,” Eddie responds. Richie laughs, looking down the alleyway. He shoves his hands into his pockets while Eddie buttons his shirt back up and tucks it back in. Richie manages to keep his hands to himself until Richie’s dressed again.

“How’d you get here?” Richie asks.

“Took a cab.”

“Good,” Richie tells him. “Wanna come home with me?”

“I don’t go home with just any wannabe comedian who comes my way,” Eddie teases him. Richie responds by ducking down and scooping Eddie up, throwing him over his shoulder. “You _ motherfucker, _ put me _ down—” _

“If you won’t go home with the comedian, the comedian will just have to go home with you,” Richie shouts over Eddie’s protests. He hauls Eddie to their car and dumps him in the passenger seat to drive him home.

They have to sneak in the kitchen door at the back of the house to avoid waking up Gabe and Leah, but they manage to pull it off. Richie goes to say goodnight to Ben while Eddie checks on Gabe first, finding him sound asleep in his tiny toddler bed. He leans in to hear his breathing, checks his pulse real quick — little things he tries not to let Richie see — before he leaves to do the same with Leah. She furrows her brow when his fingers touch her neck, and he brushes his thumb over her cheek to calm her down.

“She good?” Richie asks softly from the doorway. Eddie nods, and Richie comes up behind him to kiss the back of his neck. Eddie releases Leah and turns around in Richie’s hands.

“Ready for bed?” Richie asks. Eddie nods again. The hallways are dark and quiet when Richie leads Eddie back through them; Ben must have already left after talking to Richie.

Richie shuts their bedroom door behind them and turns on Eddie. Eddie reaches up for his shirt, unbuttoning the top button near his throat. Richie’s eyes drop to his hand, and trace the line of his chest as his skin is exposed inch by inch.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” Richie says, before he runs at him and tackles him onto the bed. Eddie yelps and bounces on the mattress. “Did you dress this hot on purpose? Did you actually want me to _ fuck up _ my show? You _ sneaky—” _

“I’m not dressed hot,” Eddie argues, continuing to unbutton his shirt as Richie climbs up over him, knees on either side of Richie’s hips. “I’m just dressed normal. This is how I always dress.”

“That’s my point,” Richie says. He yanks Eddie’s shirt off of him and kisses him again, then yawns, his jaw cracking. Eddie pulls back, raising an eyebrow at him. “Look, it’s been a _ long _ fucking night, alright? I’m _ tired.” _

“We can go to bed, if you wanna be an old man about it,” Eddie tells him. Richie unbuttons and unzips Eddie’s pants and dips his hand in to wrap his long fingers around his dick. Eddie’s head drops back, digging into the pillow as he groans. Richie leans over him, hot and heavy and long, kissing him deeply, licking into his mouth as he strokes him. Eddie reaches up and tangles his hands in Richie’s hair, holding him tightly in place to kiss him harder.

_ “I’m _not the old man,” Richie says, pulling Eddie up close and dragging his hand up, down again, up, twisting his hand, leaving Eddie gasping, writhing into the mattress. He moans, and Richie kisses him cheek, his throat, his exposed chest, biting lightly into his skin. Eddie exhales sharply at the point of contact. “I love you, Eddie. You make me better, I’m more myself when I’m with you—”

_ “Richie—” _

“—and, God, you’re so fucking hot,” Richie continues gracelessly, voice rougher, deeper, and Eddie moans through the feeling as he comes right up to the edge and over it, Richie’s hand working him through it until he’s reaching down to shove him away. As soon as he catches his breath, he flips their positions, putting his strength into getting Richie on his back. It’s easier than it should be; Richie’s much taller than him, but Eddie exercises every day, and Richie weighs nothing compared to what Eddie can actually lift.

“Jesus,” Richie gasps, and Eddie tears his shirt off and then yanks his t-shirt up and over his head. Eddie doesn’t waste time stripping Richie’s clothes off, then his own, gathering Richie up in his arms and kissing him before he snakes down his body to wrap his mouth around his huge cock. Richie pounds his fist into the mattress, then gasps; Eddie reaches up to spread Richie’s fingers out, and Richie grabs onto his hand.

“Mother_fucker,”_ Richie says, with meaning, and Eddie pins Richie’s hip to the mattress with his free hand. “Eddie, fuck, _ fuck—” _

Eddie doesn’t move, just lets Richie moan through it, his enormous dick pulsing as it spills down his throat. They’ve been together for years, and it’s still one of Eddie’s favorite sounds in the world, Richie whispering his name over and over as he rides his high. Eddie pulls off and draws up to kiss him.

“You’re very funny,” Eddie tells him softly. Richie huffs a laugh.

“Can you take a video of yourself saying it? Nobody will ever believe me otherwise,” Richie murmurs, his eyes still closed. He cracks one open to look up at Eddie. “You gonna come lay down or what? You’ve got weird pillow talk, but I like you anyways.”

“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie tells him, dropping down into Richie’s hold. Richie wraps his arm around him and kisses him on the crown of his head. Eddie presses his cheek into Richie’s chest.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” Richie says. “Seriously. I’m glad you came.”

“Me, too.”

“Both times—”

“You’re _ insufferable,” _Eddie says firmly, cutting him off. Richie laughs and kisses Eddie’s temple.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicolelianesolo](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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